How I Totally Failed on My First Sunday as a Pastor
I don’t know quite what a person’s first day as a pastor is supposed to be like, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be like this.
After a couple of years of living and working out of state, the church I had worked for as a college pastor for 9 years had asked me to come back as the lead pastor.
It had fallen on hard times (again) and was in a lot of pain (again).
But hey! I’m back! It’s me! What could go wrong, right?
I show up early (always good) on my first Sunday and make my way into the main worship area, where I have my first official conversation with my first official parishioner/member/person/whatever we call them.
“Oh, pastor, pastor,” she says, “I need your help.”
Of course you do. It is me, after all. Stand back as I help you, Christian person!
“It’s the devil! The devil! He’s all over me! I can’t stop thinking about him! He’s all in my mind!! He’s gonna get me! But, I can’t talk anymore about it. I’ve got to go hold the babies in the nursery. Goodbye!”
She turns around and heads off for the children’s area, while I stand there, dumbfounded. I’m pretty sure that never happened to me working with college students.
Still, no matter, there are plenty of people I can still help! Next?
I make my way back to the children’s area to check my kids in (nervously) where the very next person I run into says (and I quote):
Him: “So, you’re the new pastor, huh?”
Me: (Shakily) “Yes…”
Him: “So whaddyou think about the end times? The book of Revelation? What’s the mark of the beast? Who is the anti-Christ?”
Me: (Mumbling) “Well, there are, um, traditionally, four main views on how to interpret Revelation, but I’m, uh, not really going to talk much about that today.”
Him: (6 inches from my face) Well, don’t you think you ought to know more about it if you’re a pastor?
Me: “I…guess? Hey! Where’s the restroom?”
I go to the restroom, give myself my best Stuart Smalley pep talk, and convince myself that I can help these people.
The service begins (thank God), and during the time of worship (our band plays a few songs), we invite people to come up and be prayed for by a prayer leader.
I am beyond nervous, but go up to the front, my title as “lead pastor” apparently qualifying me for this task.
So, here she comes—my first person to pray for. What’s it going to be? Need a miracle? A Bible verse? A hug? A “I’m so glad you’re finally here to help me”?
Her: “I’m thinking about leaving the church now that you’re here, she says. Would you pray for me to know whether I should leave or not?”
The sheer shock caused me to block out whatever went down next. PTSD had kicked in (Pastor’s Traumatic Sunday Disorder).
But…okay! Shake it off! You can still help these people through your sermon!
I make it through all of this, and honestly, I can’t remember any of the songs, any introduction I was given, or any thing else until the end of the service, when I had finished preaching.
Now, the pastor before me was 65, known as an expert Bible teacher, had his own large mailing list of people who actually signed up to get his material—because he was that consistently good. Old Testament stories, New Testament insights, preaching workshops—you name it, the guy did it. And this is what the people were accustomed to.
So what do I bring? Some postmodern, overly clever attempt at being “relevant”.
The title? “Why the Answer is a Mystery.”
I know, I know. Catchy.
The response?
Crickets. Silencio. Nada.
It was like trying to hand out “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” t-shirts at an NRA rally.
The only good thing about that sermon? It was way better than the following week’s!
Really, I had totally failed those people on that day.
How?
I thought I was the one who could fix them, help them, make them all right.
Looking back, though, through all the mess and challenges, I learned one thing:
“I” can’t really help anyone.
But Jesus can, through me, and despite me.
And I have found that, to the degree I remember this and live like this and pray like this and lead like this, I actually…end up helping someone, by introducing them to the one knows how to love and help and challenge and grow them perfectly.
Which, come to think about it, was probably what that first Sunday was all about.
